


Better Men

by LittleLynn



Category: Black Sails
Genre: Amnesia fic, Bittersweet, Developing Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, I'm not sure if I'd say there will be fluff, M/M, and needing to jog his memories, but finding himself very reluctant to do that to him, but for this ship its about as close to fluff as you're getting, flint loses a decade of his memories, leaving silver with james mcgraw
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-24
Updated: 2016-12-16
Packaged: 2018-08-17 03:31:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 16,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8128804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleLynn/pseuds/LittleLynn
Summary: “I don’t believe you.” Flint said, though his tone was not nearly as sure as his words. John didn’t have time to argue, he reached for a small looking mirror left on a decrepit vanity and passed it to Flint.There was no denying the ten years Flint saw on his face, the face he likely hardly recognised as his own. John felt cruel, for making James face Flint, but he didn’t have time for his disbelief. John waited as Flint stared at a stranger’s face in the mirror.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Big thank you to Kat who is beta'ing this fic <3 It will probably be about four chapters in total

 

They had reclaimed Nassau. What had seemed before like a fool’s errand now was a victory at their feet.

The shadows that Long John Silver and Captain Flint had cast over the island had brought all the men to heel, given them belief where they might have had none. Their very names encouraged defectors from Governor Rogers’ forces, traitors too terrified to risk falling into the hands of pirates, should they fall on the wrong side of the conflict.

The British ships fled into the horizon, the remaining troops cut down and finished off. The men let out raucous cheers of victory, the singing and drinking was already beginning. John wasn’t so wild with his celebrations, smart enough to know they had won another battle but the war was far from fought yet. There would be a British resurgence and the Spanish would likely turn up also. But for now the men celebrated and John let them have their victory, letting the relief of having survived another battle weigh on him, ground him.

His leg throbbed and ached in an excruciating mix of pains. It still hurt after he stood on it all day, to spend the day fighting on it reminded John of what agony was. He remembered telling Flint when they first met what a low tolerance for pain he had when threatened with torture, a lot of things had changed since then.

John looked around himself and saw no sign of the captain, which was odd because they usually fought together. Flint covered his weaker left side, made up for his slow movements, John made sure Flint’s reckless fighting didn’t get him killed. It wasn’t unusual for some of the enemy to turn and flee when they saw them both coming. Flint had been right all that time ago when he had told Silver that the men here didn’t fear ships or guns or swords, they feared names. They feared Flint and now they feared Silver too.

It had been an ugly and chaotic battle, they had gotten separated towards the end, but it was strange that Flint had not come to find him yet. Normally they would already be taking inventory, planning their next move. Though maybe after a victory this important Flint would allow them both a day or two’s respite. Though, since Flint had told him that night before the battle for Maroon Island, told him about Thomas Hamilton, Silver understood that there was no respite for Flint.

They had been inexorably closer since that night, John finally taken into Flint’s confidence, but the story Flint had told had been so different from anything John expected that it had had an unintended consequence. Instead of finding hate and violence, he had found someone called James McGraw. John almost wishes he could go back to knowing Flint just as Flint, for he did not know what to do with the knowledge that this ferocious pirate had once been a man who had fallen in love with someone he was not supposed to.

John wondered if anyone else, enemy or ally, would even be able to believe it if he told them that this war was being raged by Flint for lost loves.

The story from Flint had changed things for John, knowing what he did now he had better understood Flint’s every move, he had been able to see the broken hurt that drove him and it had _changed_ things for John. He didn’t want to be Flint’s end, where the idea of it had once been merely a dispassionate fact, now made his stomach roll.

But it seemed that no matter what he did Flint slipped further into the dark. No matter how far their relationship may have progressed, there was always a part of Flint that was completely closed off from him, a part of him that seemed to have died with the Hamiltons, the part that allowed him to love.

Not that John was foolish enough to love someone like Flint, far from it, but it made him hesitant to reach out further, to truly try to save Flint from this path he was on, because was fairly sure the attempt at help would not be welcome.

Flint was driving towards the British and John could see it in his eyes that mutually assured destruction was what Flint hoped for. That he knew there was no return from where he was headed, but he did not care so long as he took those who took Thomas and Miranda with him. It was John’s job to make sure he didn’t take every pirate on this island with him as well.

John sighed and rubbed a hand across his forehead, now was not the time for such reflections on Flint. He ignored the pain in his leg as he forced himself to start walking again, he was used to doing it by now, and began searching for Flint among the carnage.

“Mr Silver.”

The idea of Flint having been hurt in the fight was so alien to John that even when Dr Howell came briskly towards him he assumed it was to berate him for spending too long on his leg.

“Not now Howell, I need to find the Captain.” John waved him off, only for the doctor to grab his arm – a daring move nowadays – and speak in an urgent whisper.

“It’s about the Captain. You need to come.”

John followed without a word, pushing himself to walk faster than he should on his leg, especially after such an arduous day on it. He stifled a wince with every step and Howell looked concerned but did not slow their pace, that was how John knew it was bad.

Howell took him to one of the little shacks that served as houses on this island, it was close to the tavern, where the tavern used to be, it was a half-fallen wreck now. There were four other men already crammed into the house, Ben Gunn, Billy and two men he didn’t recognise. He faltered when he saw Flint, set in the bed in the corner of the room, unconscious, with already bloodied bandages wrapped around his head.

“What happened.” John demanded, turning to Howell.

“We found him in the tavern. The whole fucking place is destroyed, barely standing. Something must’ve hit ‘im while he was in there,” Gunn explained, gesturing to himself and the two men Silver didn’t know.

“Fuck,” John allowed himself before gathering a plan in his head. “Does anyone else know about this?” Silver demanded.

“Just the people in this room,” Billy confirmed, bulging arms folded over his chest. “Ben had them drag Flint in here and came to get me and the doc straight away.”

“Good.” John nodded before turning on Gunn and the two other men. “I will only say this once, so I suggest you listen carefully. No one, and I mean no one, not the other men, not the other captains, not the whores who will try to wheedle it out of you, _no one_ , hears about this. If I find word spreading that Flint is lying half dead in a shack then the three of you _will_ be dead, I won’t discriminate between who kept their mouth shut and who didn’t. Now get out.”

The three men nodded and left quickly, John expected they would obey him, most did now, too scared of the consequences, none of John’s threats had proved to be in vain in a very long time. Billy frowned at his treatment of the men but said nothing, if he disapproved then he shouldn’t have created Long John Silver in the first place.

“Is he going to die?” John turned back to the doctor, refusing to acknowledge the way he feared the answer.

“I don’t think so,” Howell answered. He was ringing his hands though and studying Flint’s unmoving form, John could tell there was something he was not being told, he didn’t have time for reticence.

“But?” he barked, Howell snapped back to attention.

“Head wounds are difficult, I don’t know what the damage will be when he wakes, _if_ he wakes.”

“You said you don’t think he is going to die.”

“But head injuries are different, he may keep breathing for a long time but never wake up.”

“Fuck,” John said again, balling his fists and resisting the urge to throw something.

“What do you want us to do?”

“Keep people away from here, block off the street, make up some shit about why people can’t come down here. If I see anyone other than us three I will shoot them where they stand. If people are wondering where we are remind them that it’s none of their fucking business. No one finds out,” John ordered. It was important that no one thought that the dread captain had fallen, the ranks would break, word would inevitably make its way back to England.

“We won’t be able to keep that up for long.”

“If he is going to wake up, how long will it take?” John asked Howell, who thought hard for a few moments.

“Three days, if he isn’t awake in three days he probably isn’t going to wake up.”

“Right. You give us three days, if Flint isn’t awake by then then I will speak to the other captains and we’ll find a way to control this mess. Howell I expect you back here to check on him every few hours, don’t make me come and find you,” John finished. Howell and Billy, recognising their dismissal, left the sloping shack, Billy shutting the door behind himself.

As soon as the door was closed John sunk down in a chair, gasping at the relief of finally getting weight of his leg. He should take the boot off, but he didn’t, aware that if Flint woke or someone stumbled upon them then he would have to be able to move. So instead he massaged the throbbing stump as best he could from where he sat. Flint would scold him for not removing the boot anyway, he’d say the risk of someone finding them was smaller than the risk of John losing more of his leg. John had never really been able to understand why Flint seemed to care about that.

“For god sake Flint.” John sighed, sitting more comfortably and getting ready for a long, tense wait. “You better wake up you bastard, we’re not done yet.”

John spent the rest of the day alternating between thinking about what the hell he was going to tell people if Flint didn’t wake up, and actively not thinking about the way the possibility of Flint not waking up made him feel.

No one would know he had died at the battle, that was important. He might claim that Flint had chased after the fleet and disappeared out to sea, let him become a tall tale waiting there for the British to return. Maybe he’d just say he had disappeared, confirm he’d seen him after the battle but that then he had simply vanished. The stories of Flint were so fantastical already that John would barely have to work to turn Flint into the British navy’s very own poltergeist. Half their own men – albeit the more stupid half – believed Flint some kind of demon anyway. John wondered what that made him, a bad omen probably.

“We’re all in this mess because of you. Least you could do is see it through,” John grumbled. Apparently being alone with an unconscious Flint, with only occasional check-ups from the doctor was leading him to talk to himself. He grumbled to cover up his real worry, even though there was no one there to see it anyway.

If they were different men, better men, if he wasn’t sure Flint would put a knife in his gut for trying, then John might look after him. Mop his brow, change his bandages, hold his hand, even. Kiss his bruised knuckles, his temple, his mouth. But that wasn’t who they were. No matter what lurked beneath the surface of their friendship, that would never be them. John might be coaxed into letting down his guard enough with Flint to become something else, something more, but Flint never would, so there was little point in lingering on it.

The second day of John’s vigil over Flint dawned and John was forced to think more seriously about how the other captains may react. Madi would always do what was in the best interests of her people, it wouldn’t be difficult to convince her that the only way to keep them all safe now was to see this war through. Blackbeard had never cared for Flint, never put much stock in his name, Blackbeard would likely not care he was dead, the death of one man, even Flint, wouldn’t change the lay of the pieces for Blackbeard. Anne Bonny had taken the Orion as her ship, John knew she wanted Eleanor Guthrie’s head, and was unlikely to stop until she had it, unless Rackham could talk her out of it. Rackham would understand the consequences of losing their most terrifying captain, he would have to prove to Rackham that Long John Silver could stand on his own.

How ironic, that the man with an iron leg would have to stand alone, to be the one to lead.

John understood why Billy had done it, he even often enjoyed the power that came along with his new name, but he also missed just being John Silver. He missed his leg, he missed not giving a shit, he missed being able to run whenever he felt he needed to leave. There was no running from this now. Everyone seemed to know that there was no running from Long John Silver.

John was about to bitch out the unconscious Flint for getting him in this fucking mess, but then Flint started shifting in his sleep.

John shot out of the chair and bit down hard on his fist as pain shot through his stump, still not recovered from the fighting the day before, aggravated from staying in the boot. John fought down the pain and walked over to Flint’s bedside as quick as he dared, cup of water in hand to give to the captain.

Flint groaned and his hands shot up to his head, had no doubt he had a pretty awful headache right now, but when his hands found the bandage they became tentative. Huh. John would have put money on Flint ripping off the bandage and stumbling out of bed insisting that he didn’t need coddling.

“Here, drink this.” John kept his voice quiet in an attempt not to aggravate Flint’s no doubt throbbing head, but he still startled at noticing someone else in the room with him.

Flint eyed him warily for a few moments before gingerly reaching out and taking the cup, struggling into a sitting position, he never took his eyes off John as he took a drink.

“Thank you.” Flint said as he passed back the cup and what the fuck? John must’ve been giving him a shocked look before Flint spoke again. “What?”

“If I’d known a cup of water was all it was going to take to make you grateful I’d have offered you one years ago.” John snorted, he supposed things had been changing between them, it was the first time either of them had been seriously hurt since they had developed into tentative friends. Either way his words seemed to confuse Flint, who was still looking at him with a mixture of suspicion and confusion.

John was about to open his mouth to tell him that they’d won the battle when Flint spoke again.

“Who are you?”

Oh.

 _Fuck_.   

 

“You don’t know who I am?” John asked very slowly.

“Should I?” Flint answered, sitting himself up more carefully.

“Do you know who you are?” That question had Flint screwing his face up in annoyance, apparently even now he didn’t tolerate what he thought were stupid questions.

“Obviously,” Flint scoffed and John felt relief flood him just in time for the bottom to fall out of his stomach again. “My name is James McGraw, Lieutenant of the Royal Navy, serving under Captain Hennessey.” Flint reeled it off as if it was supposed to prove he knew who he was. “Satisfied?” He asked with a quirked eyebrow. “You should return the favour.”

“What?”

“What’s your name,” Flint said and then he _smiled_. It wasn’t the dangerous smirk he sometimes paid him, no, it was a _smile_.

John couldn’t have hidden the shock on his face if he had tried. For the first time in his life words were failing him.

“Did something happen? I’m assuming there was a fight, I’m having trouble remembering the circumstances. I apologise if I’ve forgotten your name. I guess I got hit on the head, Hennessey is always telling me to be less reckless.” Flint told him, talking so freely and offering information unprompted that John had no idea what to do with it.

“What’s the last thing you remember.”

“I’d rather have your name first,” Flint said, suspicion back in his eyes as he looked around the room, recognising nothing. “Where is this?” His questions were getting sharper, the disorientation of waking up with his head throbbing in a room he didn’t know and a man he didn’t recognise setting in.

“John Silver. It’s very important you tell me what you remember last,” John pressed, thankful he had so much practice in schooling his panic, Flint’s wary gaze stayed on him, but at least he answered this time.

“I’m not sure, it’s vague,” Flint answered, looking troubled, as if only now he realised how few hard memories he could recall, as he started to realise he had no idea how he had got there. “Tell me what happened.” He sounded more like the Flint John knew, but still so different, less threatening, less demanding.

“There was a fight,” John confirmed. “You’ve been unconscious for a couple of days. You seem to have lost some memories.” He tried to stay calm, it looked like Flint was doing the same. Only this wasn’t Flint, this wasn’t even _remotely_ Flint. This was James.

“How much have I forgotten?” Flint asked, he didn’t seem nearly as perturbed as John thought he should, but then, he had no idea that he’d even become Flint.

“I need you to answer me one very important question.”

“Fine.”

“Do you know who Thomas Hamilton is?” This would be so much easier to explain if Flint at least knew the beginning of the story, but there was no recognition in his face.

“No?”

“Shit.”

“What?”

“You’ve forgotten at least a decade.” John saw no reason in or way of sugar-coating it. Things between him and Flint weren’t sugar-coated. Flint blanched, almost gaping at John. John sighed, scrubbing a hand over his face. He needed to get the doctor and Billy and he needed to work out what the fuck he was going to do about this. He didn’t fancy leaving Flint on his own though, the last thing he needed was someone finding notorious captain Flint stumbling around and introducing himself as James McGraw, Lieutenant of the Royal Fucking Navy.

“I don’t believe you.” Flint said, though his tone was not nearly as sure as his words. John didn’t have time to argue, he reached for a small looking mirror left on a decrepit vanity and passed it to Flint.

There was no denying the ten years Flint saw on his face, the face he likely hardly recognised as his own. John felt cruel, for making James face Flint, but he didn’t have time for his disbelief. John waited as Flint stared at a stranger’s face in the mirror.

“What – ” Flint faltered and cleared his throat, visibly trying to adjust to what John had just told him, the evidence before him. He moved the mirror away from himself, as if he did not want to look at it anymore. “What has happened since?”

John couldn’t help it, he let out a short and sharp bark of laughter, where would he even fucking begin? The reaction startled Flint and he looked on his guard again.

“You won’t believe me.” Who the hell would.

“On the contrary, right now I am inclined to believe what you tell me,” Flint said seriously and John broke into only slightly manic laughter.

“If you could hear yourself say that… why the fuck would you believe a thing I say anyway. You don’t recognise me, I could be lying through my teeth.”

“You just said I’ve been unconscious for two days, but you were here when I woke so it stands to reason that you have been here for most if not all of that time. I’m not shackled to the bed so I’m not a prisoner and you weren’t worried about me running off, so you’re not the enemy having captured me in battle. We’re friends then, I would assume,” Flint reasoned and it felt so strange to John, to hear himself described as such by Flint’s words.

“I’m your quartermaster,” John told him.

“I’m on your crew?” Flint asked, Silver shook his head, it piqued Flint’s interest. “I’m a captain?”

“Yes,” John answered, even though it was such an understatement of what they were, John wasn’t just a Quartermaster and Flint wasn’t just a captain.

“You don’t look like you’re part of the Royal Navy.” Flint’s eyes were searching him, taking in his scruffy beard and hair, his distinctly un-navy like clothes. He noticed John’s leg last, it was nice, in a way, it was usually noticed first.

“No. Decidedly not.” John watched as the truth of what John and therefore he was started to creep into his reality. “You’re taking this awfully well,” John ventured as Flint paused in his curiosity.

“What I know of my life is that it was unremarkable in every way, son of a carpenter, deceased mother, lieutenant in the navy, no significant other. I cannot imagine that changed so radically that there is much worth remembering.”

“It changed. You. You don’t even call yourself James McGraw anymore, not to anyone.” John knew that James McGraw had died with Thomas and been buried with Miranda.

“But you knew my name,” Flint said with a note of certainty.

“Yes. You told me once, the story of how you got where you are. It isn’t information you share freely.”

“Why not?”

“Two reasons would be my guess, the first; it is painful.”

“And the second?” Flint asked.

John wasn’t sure how to phrase it. “You don’t like sharing that part of yourself with anyone.”

“I told you,” Flint pointed out.

“You did,” John confirmed, nodding his head slowly, remembering that night before the battle for Maroon Island, when so much had changed and things had finally made so much more sense to John.

“It seems I was wrong earlier and now must ask you to answer me a question.” Flint started, John was listening. “Who am I?” Flint asked and John realised he had no idea how to answer that to a version of Flint that couldn’t remember any of the things that got him here.

“You call yourself Captain Flint,” John started, going to stand, feeling the urge to pace, even on his ruined leg.

“No, John, _who_ am I?” The use of his given name and the hand that caught his wrist were both things John was not ready for and he found himself helpless against sitting back in the chair.

“Your name is Captain Flint, you’re the most feared pirate in the West Indies. Right now you and I are leading a war against the English.” John saw no other way of putting it, Flint was going to have to know, unless John planned to keep him sequestered away in this shack until he got his memories back.

 _If_   he got his memories back. But John was resolutely not thinking about that possibility.

“Oh.”

“’Oh’? That’s it?”

“It’s a lot to process.”

“I’m just surprised you believe me.”

“What would be the sense in lying about it? It’s too ridiculous to be fabricated, you’d never risk something so far-fetched,” Flint said shrugging his shoulders. John thought of some of his lies in the past and wondered if Flint was entirely right about that, then again, this was James, and he didn’t know John. “Still, that is a long way to come in ten years.”

“You did it in far less than ten years. It didn’t take long after you left England for you to secure a crew and begin terrorising their ships mercilessly.”

“Why?”

“You have good reasons for hating them.” John thought of Thomas and Miranda, of everything that was taken from James, of the way it was _personal_.

“What are they?” James asked and John found himself suddenly overwhelmed by the fact that he did not want to tell him.

Here James was, before the world made him suffer through such heartbreak and threw such horrors at him that he became Flint, this creature that he hated himself for. James who was a hard navy man, who liked to think himself practical but was still soft enough to fall in love with a man, who _smiled_. A version of James that genuinely wanted to be alive. John didn’t want to break that again so soon. He was saved from having to answer by Dr Howell coming into the shack for his next check-up.

“Ah, captain good you’re awake. Perhaps you can convince Mister Silver to take off his boot before he gives himself another infection.” Howell spoke, blithely unaware that the man sat in the bed was not Flint at all.

James’ eyes went to John’s leg, worry suddenly creasing his brow, Flint never allowed his feelings to appear so easily on his face, save that of rage and hatred.

“This is the doctor,” John explained, making realisation start to dawn on Howell before John spelled it out for him. “The captain has lost about a decade of his memories.”

“Shit.”

“My thoughts as well. Is there anything we can do to get them back?”

“The brain is a mystery.” Howell shrugged a little helplessly. “We’ve no idea how it works. I guess familiar places might help. You’re just going to have to jog his memory Silver. Hopefully when the trauma of the blow to his head starts to heal the memories will come back naturally.”

“Hopefully.”

“It’s the best I can do.”

“Right. I need you to get Billy,” John instructed. Howell nodded and left the tent. Only now did John start pacing.

“You should sit,” James told him, making him pause in his step.

“What?”

“The doctor said you needed to take your boot off. So sit and take it off.”

“I need to be able to move if someone that shouldn’t comes in here.”

“As your captain can’t I order you to do so?” James smiled again, John was still unprepared for it and unused to it.

“I’ve barely followed one of your orders since I lied my way onto your ship.” John joked, feeling one of his old shit eating grins fill up his face. He hadn’t smiled like that for a long time, it made him realise how much he had changed since getting caught up the hurricane that was Flint.

His grin and words made James laugh lightly and that was something else John wasn’t ready for, he caught himself just staring at what it did to James’ face, the way it softened and opened.

“You’re giving me a very strange look John.”

Yes, John thought, because you don’t smile and you certainly don’t laugh like that.

“It’s nothing.” John waved him off, though he could tell James had already figured it out.

“Who’s Billy?” James asked, changing the subject.

“The bosun, he’s the only other person who knows you’re here.” The only other one that mattered anyway. “He doesn’t know you were in the navy, no one but me does, it’s probably best that it’s kept that way.”

“I’m not going to be able to pretend I have my memories.”

“No, Billy is going to have to know that, just don’t tell him – or anyone for that matter – any of the things you do know about yourself either. He doesn’t need to know them and you wouldn’t want him to. You with your memories that is,” John clarified. James nodded his assent. Getting Flint to agree to things had never been so easy, but then, James must feel rather adrift right now, with John being the only thing able to tether his past to his present. “The real problem we’re going to have is keeping the men unaware of what’s happening.” John thought, the other captains were going to have to know, though John would paint them a much more temporary picture where it should only take a day or two for Flint to get his memories back.

“Because I’m the captain?”

“We need them to fear us, and they do, but they wouldn’t fear you like this. They don’t like you, you can’t afford to have a weakness.”

“Do they like you?”

“Everybody likes me,” John answered, flashing his white teeth with his grin, feeling a little like his old self again, James snorted and rolled his eyes. John forced himself to become serious again. “They love me, they need me, but they also fear me.” They needed him because he was the bridge between the men and Flint, without him Flint became the tyrant again.

Billy chose that moment to re-enter the shack and John remembered how clever Flint was, how much he had picked up from their conversation, because his face closed off and went hard immediately, eying the bosun with nothing but suspicion.

“Captain,” Billy said warily.

“I’m told you’re the bosun.” James was closed off, giving nothing away. John let himself feel a little relieved.

“Yeah. Do we have a plan?”

“I need a meeting with the other captains to tell them what’s going on. But as far as they’re going to know Captain Flint is expected to make a full recovery in the next few days.”

“And if he doesn’t?”

“Then I will deal with that when it comes. Until then myself and the captain will be gone from the beach, I’m going to try and jump start his memory. Make sure the men are clear of the ship,” John instructed, Billy long since past questioning any of his plans.

“I’ll tell the captains you want a meeting, on the ship?”

“Yes, but not for a few hours,” John told him and Billy took it as the dismissal it was, as soon as he left James’ face lost its closed off expression.

“So we’re going to the ship?” James ventured.

“Yes, hopefully the ship will bring back memories,” John answered, thinking to himself that if it didn’t he was going to have to take him to Miranda’s house inland, and John didn’t really want to do that, there was too much pain there.

“Don’t we risk the men intercepting us and realising something is wrong?” James thought aloud and John figured he meant on the way to the ship.

“People don’t exactly stop us for a chat.” They crew left them alone when they were together unless it was truly urgent, and even then, they would probably go to Billy first. No one interrupted them when they were together, much less if they were clearly doing something or headed somewhere. “Although right now I’m damming you for never wearing a hat.”

“Pardon?” James had a bemused laugh.

“Your bandages, they’re very apparent.”

“Can they come off?”

“They probably shouldn’t.”

“That wasn’t precisely what I asked,” James responded and John wrestled with his thoughts for a while.

“Can I take a look?” He gestures to James’ head, there was no way he would have ever said yes if this was Flint, there was no way John would have asked.

“Of course.”

John stepped forward and carefully unwrapped the bandages from around James’ head like he had seen Howell do. It was a long cut around down the curve of one side of his head, stitched together by Howell as best he could, you could see where most of the impact had been, the wound deeper and wider there. The skin around the laceration was bruised and purple, but it had at least stopped bleeding. The moment was too intimate, quiet as John stood so close over James and checking over his injury. John backed off again and cleared his throat, trying to dispel the intimacy he suddenly felt.

“You should be okay going to the ship without any, though Howell may try to kill us. But when we’re out of sight I’m putting them back on whether you like it or not.”

“I’ll agree on one term.”

“Oh?”

“When you put my bandages back on you’ll take the boot off.” James bargained with a stern look but an amused quirk at the side of his mouth. It wasn’t what John had been expecting.

“You drive a hard bargain Captain,” John grinned, his agreement clear.

James laughed again, a little smile tugging at his mouth and John had never hated England more than he did then.

  



	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry the update was slower than I intended; job hunting, illness and my drama society's play going on means I've been rather hectic :') the response to chapter one was so lovely, I hope you all still enjoy it <3

  


It became apparent to Silver rather swiftly that he hadn’t anticipated a more apparent problem than his bandages when walking James to the ship. He would have kicked himself if he had the legs to do it.

They were barely two steps out from the little shack when James swayed to the side, his face loosing what colour it had had. It was only Silver’s quick realisation that had his arm around James’ waist, supporting him before he fell; and he had been about to fall.

Silver tried not to think about how close the move had brought them, their sides pressed together, tried not to think about how easy that decision to move had been with James, how with Flint he didn’t know if he would have been pushed aside or not, if Flint would still rather fall than let Silver help him.

“This was a stupid idea,” Silver berated himself before James could voice his thanks, the extra weight made his leg throb, but James’ hand was warm where it had come to rest on his shoulder.

“We can make it,” James answered, determined. “Though removing the bandages may have been a waste,” he added, and he was right, if he needed to lean on Silver, it was going to be clear the captain had been injured. “Would it be so bad for them to see?” James asked, and Silver pondered on it for a while.

“I suppose most of them have seen you helping me to walk in the past,” Silver mused aloud, seeing as curiosity to know about it came over James’ features.

“Oh?”

“My leg, it was infected and we’d had to make land on an island and were promptly captured by the people living there. The march back to their camp was taxing, I fell and you helped me up, helped me to make the rest of the walk, let me lean on you. We made it, but I could barely walk for days after,” Silver explained, an occasion he had banned himself from thinking on for many reasons, it wouldn’t do to let himself over analyse such things when there were far more important things to be done.

“I should have carried you,” James’ voice was coloured with accusation at the self he didn’t remember, it startled a laugh out of Silver.

“That would have been a sight. And it was a long way.” And it would have left him far more emotionally compromised than he was able to ignore. He was usually so good at ignoring it.

“Still,” James insisted, Silver didn’t fight him on it.

They found a way to walk so that Silver could support James while making it look as though Flint might only be helping Silver to walk, it wouldn’t be so surprising, after such an arduous fight only a few days prior. He needed to stop people from realising Flint was injured if he could. When Silver was injured the men were concerned, Silver had no idea how they would react if they knew Flint had been hurt, it could just as easily be with rekindled ideas of mutiny and ruined belief as it could be with concern.

Flint had to be untouchable, the illusion had to exist for the men as much as it did to the enemy.

None of the men stopped them, and thankfully most of the looks were pointed at Silver who exaggerated his limp accordingly. Not that it was difficult to exaggerate with it hurting like it did, wincing with every step, the irritation from the battle, extra weight and uneven surface of sand adding together to make each step hurt more than the last.

They made it to one of the row boats and Silver batted away James’ attempts to help him row.

“You’ll pass out and knowing my luck fall out the boat. Last time I dragged you up from the depths I had two legs, not sure I could do it again now,” Silver argued, nudging him towards the other bench and starting to row, James had a soft look in his eye that Silver was trying not to fixate on.

“You saved me from drowning?” he asked, the gentleness of his expression making Silver uncomfortable, it was not a look he had ever expected from that face.

“Yes. Though it wasn’t that magnanimous. I had my own selfish reasons to do it.” He tried to deflect, to take some of the softness out of James’ face before he got lost in it, what he got instead was one of those smiles and a little laugh.

“You would try to claim that saving someone from drowning was not a compassionate thing to do?” His face said he thought Silver didn’t give himself enough credit, it also said that no matter what Silver tried to argue he wouldn’t believe it.

“I’m not sure it was. I’m pretty sure you didn’t want me to save you,” Silver said, more honestly than he had perhaps intended. “We never spoke about it, we hadn’t known each other all that long.”

“I didn’t even thank you?”

“Like I said, I’m not sure if you were happy I’d saved you or not.”

“Well, on behalf of myself: thank you, John Silver,” James said sincerely, Silver focussed on this pull on his muscles as he rowed rather than the clenching in his chest. “Though I must admit I’m not sure why you would save me, from what I’ve heard I sound like an entirely unlikable individual.”  

“That’s not true,” Silver said before he realised his lips were even moving.

“Is that why you saved me then?”

“I don’t know. I needed you, I wouldn’t have survived the wrath of the crew without you.” It was a lie, a half-truth at best, because he did know that even back then he would have dragged him out of that water whether he needed him or not.

“And now?”

“Now it’s different. You’re my friend,” Silver said, though the word friend had never felt right for whatever it was they were, had never quite fit them.

“I am a lucky man then, to be able to call you a friend,” James smiled, comforting, as if he could sense Silver’s own confusion about the pair of them.

James changed the subject to the ship, wanting to know about its layout, its class, its guns and sails and all the other things that still didn’t interest Silver beyond necessity. He was glad for the change of subject though.

He couldn’t help James climb up onto the ship, he had enough trouble doing that himself these days, they simply had to hope that he didn’t fall, and thankfully he didn’t, though he looked dizzy when Silver stepped onto the deck beside him.

“Bandages,” Silver said simply, the climb had aggravated his leg further, he knew at this rate he was going to give himself another infection, if he hadn’t already.

“Boot,” James countered and Silver laughed despite the pain in his leg.

“Yeah,” he agreed, the acquiescence in itself no doubt a dead giveaway for just how bad it was hurting him, and if it wasn’t, his leg gave way beneath him anyway after just a few steps.

Silver cried out as he felt his leg refuse to take his weight after days of abuse to his stump without respite. He expected to hit the hard deck, acquire a new bruise or two, to have to hop the remaining distance to the cabin, however undignified that might be. But he didn’t fall to the deck because there were two strong hands catching him instead.

“I think we both could do with a long sit down,” James said gently, no doubt he could see the shame burning in Silver’s face, the embarrassment. He should be able to do things like _walk_ for fuck sake. When he was angry or fighting he could refocus the pain of his leg into that anger, it made him stronger in a way, he would barely feel the cut of a blade over the agony in his leg. But when he was just trying to do things, walk, stand, concentrate, read, the pain made him vulnerable. He hated that.

He missed being able to run.

Silver wondered for the first time if perhaps if he had his leg, he might run now. Might take this restored James’ hand, and convince him to run with him. To leave this whole shitstorm behind them and just _run_.

He pushed the thought aside, he couldn’t run anymore anyway.

“I have a crutch in your cabin.” Silver cleared his throat, trying to chase away the traces of pain in his tone, he wasn’t sure if he succeeded.

He pointed to the cabin, though James had almost certainly already figured out where it was anyway, they were almost always on the same place on ship, pirate or navy. He didn’t bother to protest to James helping him to walk, he didn’t put his left foot down at all, reduced to hopping, no matter how much it rankled his pride. James didn’t mention it and Silver was grateful.

James opened the door and Silver indicated to his bed by the windows, the one that had supposed to be temporary but hadn’t been in the end, like so many things between him and Flint. James helped him onto the bed, looking concerned as Silver let out a sharp gasp of pain and relief as he slipped the boot off.

Silver unwrapped the bandages around his stump, underneath it was an angry red and it felt like it was burning, he didn’t want to touch it, but he knew he needed to get a cloth and a bucket of fresh water if he held any hope of staving off another infection. He should be helping James back into his bandages, his crutch was just within reach, he could sort out his leg later. Somehow his leg always got relegated to later. Probably because he didn’t like acknowledging or thinking about it; he liked dealing with it even less.

But the choice was taken out of his hands anyway, James crouching in front of him and inspecting his leg before he could make the reach for his crutch.

He wanted to flinch away from the close attention to his leg, but found himself frozen in place instead.

“Do you mind?” James asked, his hands ghosting close to his stump, clearly requesting permission to touch, Silver didn’t know if he minded or not the scenario was so alien to him. He gave a small shake of his head; no, he didn’t mind the contact, but this wasn’t what they were, what they did for each other. They didn’t take care of each other when they were sick or injured, not really, not even if Silver sometimes wished they did. They weren’t those men. Flint wasn’t James.

Gentle fingers pressed against his stump and Silver gasped out in pain, James sending him an apologetic look before continuing to press his fingers along his stump.

“Fresh water?” James asked and Silver pointed to a barrel in the corner. Flint always kept fresh water in his cabin for Silver’s leg, he’d never really thought about why.

“I’m supposed to be the one taking care of you.” Silver had been aiming for jovial, he missed completely and hit scornful and self-loathing instead. It was harder to lie to James than it had ever been to lie to Flint. Maybe it wasn’t, maybe James just didn’t hide when he knew Silver was lying about these things.

“It seems to me like we take care of each other,” James murmured, dipping a clean rag in the water and squeezing it out before pressing it to the most swollen parts of Silver’s stump. It hurt, but it was a sharp pain from the pressure that slowly faded to the more familiar and ever present ache.

“You never let me take care of you,” Silver said, voice strained from the pain in his leg, though James was ebbing it away with the cool water.

“I’m sure I do, in my own way,” James replied thoughtfully, and even though James couldn’t possibly know, it made Silver think.

It made him think about all the times Flint had let Silver protect him from the crew, without a word and with only silent thanks; but Silver had long since been able to recognise which of Flint’s silences were borne of thanks. He thought about the moments when Flint confided in him, how he rarely told Silver anything, yet he knew more about him than anyone else alive. He thought about when Flint told him that he was not welcome in his head, but everything else told him that he was the only one that was. He thought about how when he had revealed his lie about the gold, Flint had done nothing, he had known deep down, and forgiven Silver already. He thought about how if it was anyone else in the world, they would have been dead.

He thought about Flint thanking him for showing him another way, a way that wouldn’t cost him his life, about taking the makeshift knife off his person and receiving thanks instead of the anger he had expected. Silver had always thought that moment had made him vulnerable in their relationship, shown too much of his own hand, but even if he had, Flint had never exploited it.

“Perhaps,” Silver replied, the pain in his leg soothed to a more manageable level as James pressed the wet cloth against the inflamed wound.

“When it is less tender I can massage it, it may help with the pain? Right now it would only hurt you more, but maybe in a day or two.” James’ voice was hesitant, question, he didn’t know what the boundaries between the two of them were, or he certainly wouldn’t be offering, Silver certainly wouldn’t be considering accepting the offer.

Silver wanted to ask where he had learnt such a thing, but he didn’t, it didn’t really matter, it was another piece of a man that didn’t really exist anymore.

Silver wondered then, if he should even try to bring back Flint’s memories, if this wasn’t kinder, because James smiled and laughed and told stories and wasn’t too broken to receive and give help where it was needed, James wasn’t angry, he hadn’t lost everything he had to live for. James wasn’t Flint.

But Silver couldn’t afford to think like that, they needed Flint, he had to get him back.

“The bandages are in that draw, over there.” Silver cleared his throat and spoke, knowing he needed to try and limit the intimacy between them, lest Flint return and resent Silver for taking advantage in such a way. Silver shifted himself on his bed, bringing his leg up to rest on the blankets, a weak attempt to stop James from kneeling in front of him and killing him with gentle touches again. That wasn’t who they were.

James nodded and went to rummage in the draw, coming back with enough bandages for Silver’s leg and his own head. Moving didn’t deter James, instead he sat on the makeshift cot with him and carefully moved Silver’s leg into his lap to wrap it in the clean bandages. Flint had bandaged Silver’s leg for him before, on particularly bad days, Silver had never really been able to think about it, mind always muddied with pain when it happened. But now, with time to think, Silver couldn’t find a difference between what James was doing now and what Flint had done in the past. When it was bad enough that Flint did it, he didn’t speak or ask permission, he just got the clean bandages and sat on the end of Silver’s bed, carefully moved Silver’s mangled leg into his lap, and wrapped them around the wound.

Silver wasn’t sure what disconcerted him most, the quiet intimacy that had settled so fast between him and James, or the realisation that it had been there with Flint as well.  

When James was done he passed Silver the remaining bandages and leaned his head into Silver’s space, letting him reach forward and carefully retie the bandages around Flint’s head.

“I can’t help but notice,” James started, voice scarcely above a whisper, as if too loud would disturb the closeness between them, “that there are two beds in here.”

“This one is mine, the other one is yours,” Silver said, even though James had definitely figured that out already.

“It’s not standard for the quartermaster to stay in the captain’s cabin,” James added quietly, it was half a question, as if he was expecting to unearth some secret that would make Silver and his relationship make more sense to him. It didn’t even make sense to Silver most of the time. He squirmed uncomfortably as he wrapped the bandages, the silence stretching out as Silver was forced to examine himself for the first time, exactly why it was he still slept there.

“After my leg, I wasn’t sleeping well. Better I didn’t wake up the whole crew with my restlessness.” Silver had no idea if that was true, he’d never asked Flint why he had moved him into his cabin, had never asked why he’d let him stay. It was just one more thing in a long parade of things they never talked about.

“Do you still not sleep well?” James asked, though that wasn’t really what he was asking, he was asking why Silver was still there.

“Well, you don’t snore.” Silver grinned, attempting to lighten the mood as he tied off James’ bandages and shuffled back on his cot, reaching for his crutches.

James let the subject be changed, standing up and getting Silver’s crutches for him, pointedly putting the boot far out of reach as well, not that Silver was quite masochistic enough to put it on now, especially when it was only the two of them on board, there was no one to pretend for.

“So I take it your cabin has done nothing to jog your memories so far?” Silver asked, it was obvious it hadn’t.

“Unfortunately not,” James answered, sounding as though he didn’t think it was that unfortunate at all.    

“Here,” Silver said, manoeuvring himself over to one of Flint’s bookshelves and only hesitating for a moment before taking down Marcus Aurelius’ _Meditations_ and passing it to James, “that book is very important to you.” He’d seen Flint with it many times, he’d brought it onto the ship with Miranda, as if he wouldn’t leave it in her house unprotected. Silver’s own curiosity had made him look inside and he saw the inscription there, feeling instantly like he was trespassing on something, when Flint had found him with it he’s expected Flint’s wrath, not for Flint to say quietly ‘be careful with that one’ and leave him alone with it; that had been three weeks ago.

“A fearsome pirate captain holding such a thing dear seems strange,” James said, turning the book over in his hands.

“You weren’t always a fearsome pirate captain,” Silver pointed out.

“I have always loved reading,” James mused as he opened the book, he let out a small ‘oh’ as he found the inscription, Silver stood quietly as James read it over and over, wondering if it would be what made him remember. Silver hoped it did because he didn’t want to have to explain, and he hoped it didn’t because James smiled and Flint didn’t anymore. “T.H. – Thomas Hamilton?” James asked hesitantly, remembering Silver had mentioned him before, remembering that he must be important, Silver nodded.

“Do you remember?” Silver nudged, James shook his head, Silver knew he would be curious now, the inscription left little question to their relationship.

“Were we…?”

“Yes.”

“Where is he now?” James hadn’t taken his eyes away from the neat script on the page, Silver dreaded having to answer. “John?” James prompted when no answer came, finally looking up from the book, his face open, finally wanting to know something about himself, Silver’s reluctance telling him that it wasn’t a happy story.

“It is not a nice story.”

“But something tells me it is the beginning of Flint’s,” James said, he was right of course.

“A part of me doesn’t want to tell you,” Silver admitted, before he could think better of it.

“Why?”

“Because you don’t smile anymore.”

“Oh.”

“But I need you to remember.” Silver sighed, scrubbing a hand over his face, warring with himself, knowing he had to tell James to try and make him remember.

“Tell me, please?” James requested, whether because he wanted to know or he knew it would take the choice away from Silver he couldn’t tell.

Silver told him as best he knew the story, told him about Thomas and Miranda and what had happened to them, what Thomas had wanted for Nassau, Ashe’s betrayal, Thomas’ death. How Captain Flint had been borne of Thomas’ dream and Flint’s anger. How when Miranda had died anger was all he had had left.

For a long time, Silver had never understood Flint’s anger, how he could sustain it over such a long time, what could possibly had made him so furious with the world that he could be so very angry for so long. But ever since Flint had told him about Thomas, he had understood, Flint wasn’t angry, he was hopelessly sad, he had lost the people he loved and the only way he knew how to deal with that was with anger, it was his own way of losing himself to despair. Silver had tried to provide a haven for Flint, a place where he didn’t have to be so angry, he wanted to be a balm to his sorrow, to ease his pain however he could. But he didn’t think Flint would ever really let him. They weren’t those men.

James sat quietly on his own bed for a long time after Silver told him, he wished there was something he could say.

“I’m sorry.” Was all he managed, the silence having stretched so long he felt an itch to fill it with something.

“So am I,” James answered, “it is strange, I understand that it was me but I don’t remember. It feels as if it happened to someone else. Then I feel guilty for not remembering,” James admitted, running his fingers over Thomas’ words, as if that would make it come back. “This was a beautiful thing to write.”

“Yes,” Silver agreed, the first time he had read the words he had felt his own heart clench, he understood how easy it must have been to fall in love with Thomas Hamilton, no matter society, no matter the circumstance, no matter the fact that he shouldn’t. Know no shame.

“It didn’t change the way you thought of me?” James asked hesitantly, not making eye contact with Silver. “That Thomas was a man.”

“It only changed because finally understood why you were so angry. It made me angry too, that that had happened to you. I don’t care that he was a man not a woman, someone like me would never take issue with something like that anyway,” Silver answered, he’d never told Flint that he shared his inclinations, he wasn’t sure why; it had never felt right, had felt unnecessary, wouldn’t change anything between them, he didn’t think of himself in terms like that anyway.

“Someone like you?”

“Someone like you,” Silver said by way of an answer, James understood him anyway, the moment felt fragile.   

“Oh.”

“How about I show you the rest of the ship?” Silver suggested, trying to relive some of the tension between them, James nodded and let Silver end the moment that was stretching between them.

It was less about trying to jog Flint’s memories and more about giving him a tour of the ship, Silver knowing that if his cabin hadn’t made him remember, then nothing else on the ship was likely to either. But Silver could tell that James was curious about the ship regardless, as he ran his hand along the wood Silver half wondered if the ship would be able to bring about his memories, with so many of the lost ones aboard this ship. But a couple of hours passed and James was no more Flint than he had been that morning and Silver tried to ignore the way he was relieved.

James told stories, about his mother, what he could remember of her, and his father’s chagrin at James’ lack of carpentry skill, about his exploits as a young man in the navy and the trouble he had gotten himself into as a child.

“Before I joined the navy, my father had been determined to make a carpenter of me. He had me make a chair, walked me through the process and even he couldn’t understand what I did wrong, but I’d clearly done _something_ wrong,” James told him as they sat on the steps to the quarterdeck, there was mirth in his eyes and a smile on his lips, it was contagious, addictive.

“Why, what was wrong with it?” Silver asked, already grinning even though he had never heard the story before.

“The moment a customer sat on it to test it, it collapsed under him.” He laughed, god Silver loved his laugh, the crinkle around his eyes, he looked younger. He laughed with him, imagining a young James unable to hold in his laughter as his father attempted to placate the customer. “What about you?” James then asked.

“What about me?”

“Are there no funny stories in your past?”

“I was an orphan,” John shrugged, he was good at pretending it didn’t bother him anymore, “always just looking out for myself and trying to survive. Although my penchant for lying has got me into a few amusing situations in the past.”

“Oh?”

“Though I think my favourite is still when I lied my way onto your crew by pretending to be a wonderful cook.”

“Oh dear. I dread to think how we discovered the truth about that one.” James was smiling at him again, Silver never wanted it to stop.

“Well, I failed to cook a pig and gave half of the men food poisoning. Thankfully my benevolent captain covered for me, and he actually is very good at cooking.”

“Sounds like you owe me dinner.” James laughed and Silver fought hard against a blush, covering it as best he could with one of his old shit eating grins.   

“Well if you ever feel brave enough to eat my cooking again, you are welcome to collect on that,” Silver proclaimed and James shook his head and laughed a little again, as if Silver was someone he was inexorably fond of.

Silver drew out his spyglass as he saw movement on the shore, allowing him to see Billy and the other captains preparing to head out to The Walrus. He sighed heavily, reluctant to have to make himself Long John Silver again, to end this time with James to go back to battle planning and strategy, to go back to the general he never wanted to be.

“Are you alright?” James asked as Silver stowed the spyglass back into one if his pockets.

“The other captains are coming, back to business I suppose.”

“Is that not what you want?”

“This has just been nice. Being able to be John again, it’s been a long time.”

“Don’t we get time to ourselves at all usually?” James pressed, Silver shook his head and ran a hand through his hair tiredly.

“You’d never be like this with your memories. Never so open or relaxed. That probably makes me an asshole, that I’m glad you don’t have your memories, so that I can take my guard down for an hour’s respite. I told you I was selfish,” Silver admitted, James pulling the truth out of him without having to try at all, he couldn’t look at him.

“Maybe I’m the asshole, if I’m supposed to be your friend but you don’t feel you can let your guard down around me under normal circumstances.”

“I don’t know if we are friends. I don’t know what you’d call us,” Silver confessed, “for all I know you still see me as the treacherous shit who tricked and conned my way onto your crew.”

“I don’t think that’s true. From what I can see, I rely on you, and I don’t sound like the kind of man who does that easily.”

“You don’t rely on me.”

“Really? Because it looks to me as if I confide my deepest secrets in you with no fear of rejection. That I allow you close while keeping everyone else far away. You were there waiting for me when I woke up from the battle, you didn’t know I would wake up James and not Flint, but you were still there. It is clear to me that I wouldn’t be sitting here now without you, from what you’ve told me I would be dead many times over without you.”

“I don’t – ”

“Answer me one question,” James interrupted, stopping him from protesting again.

“Okay?”

“If I hated you, if I even disliked you, if I didn’t trust you; would you know the things you know about me? Would you even still be alive?”

“I don’t know.”

“I think you do.” James was right, he did, he’d never allowed himself to think about it like that before, to entertain the possibility that yes, Flint did like him, consider him a friend, that in Flint’s own endlessly difficult way, he did want Silver around.

Another silence dragged between them as Silver’s mind warred against himself and James’ reasoning. The other captains were halfway to The Walrus now, the air between him and James was still tense, loaded with something that Silver couldn’t name.  

“Before they get here I do have one very serious question,” James said idly, as if it was a normal afternoon, he was trying to break the tension, Silver appreciated it.

“Oh?”

“What the hell happened to my hair?” he asked, deadly serious. Silver burst out laughing and James’ eyes crinkled as he smiled.

  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, I hope you're still enjoying it, comments and kudos are always cherished <3
> 
>  
> 
> [tumblr](http://shadyanne.tumblr.com/) \- lets be friends and talk about dumb gay pirates (and how s4 is going to destroy us all)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An update! Praise! But for real I'm so sorry this took so long, I was going OF for nano and it ended up taking all of my free time up :') But I'm back, busy this weekend but after that I'm just gunna sit down and finish this fic, probably two more chapters and an epilogue, so there won't be another big wait I promise <3

 

 

The meeting with the other captains went as John had expected it to go. Tense, terse and with a lot of scornful looks shot to James, as if he had deliberately done this just to spite them further. James sat throughout the meeting beside John, arms crossed over his chest, expression hard and unrelenting, just as John needed him to be. 

It was almost as these meetings usually were, John always did most of the speaking, it was well known by now that he spoke for the both of them. But it was rare for Flint to not say a single thing, even if it was only a threat or a reaffirmation of how important it was that they did not relent now, as if the other captains didn’t know already that there was no backing down now. 

It was different for Flint though, Silver had understood since that night, it was personal. It was how John knew he would never be able to let go, he’d never be able to coax Flint away from this suicide run, it was why he swore to help him win instead, the only thing he seemed to be able to do to give Flint any comfort at all. 

It was what made him want to keep James, to let Flint go and leave this place with him, with James. 

But the pirates would likely not survive what Flint had started without them both there to see it through. The fear of Captain Flint and Long John Silver were their greatest weapons, and they all knew it. He wished he was still selfish enough for that thought not to bother him. He missed the John Silver that could run and never look back without a thought to those he left behind. 

He missed the John Silver that could run. 

“So what. We just ‘supposed to sit still for days while you get Flint back? How the fuck you plannin’ on doin’ that anyway,” Anne rankled, hat low over her face. John knew she was restless these days, all but hunting Eleanor. She missed Max, it was easy to see, though no one would dare to say it for risk of getting a dagger in the stomach.

“That is none of your concern,” John answered more calmly than he felt, in all honestly he had no idea, he was blind in this. 

“It does seem like it is at least somewhat our concern,” Jack agreed with Anne, no surprise there, dry and smarmy as always. Usually John appreciated his intelligence, but not here, not now. 

“Dr Howell expects Flint’s memories to come back naturally within a few days. I’m going to attempt to expedite the process, that is all. Either way we will be back in within the week to discuss our next move. I imagine the men will be glad of the respite after our victory anyway.” John’s sentence was as much of a dismissal of them all as it was an answer to Jack’s comment, they all seemed to realise this. 

Blackbeard left without a word, Flint didn’t matter to him, he wanted blood for what had happened to Vane, though he might concede that Flint was useful to that end, Flint dying wouldn’t deter him from his goal. Silver wondered when it was that Silver and Flint had become more feared names than Blackbeard. 

Madi left with a tight nod to SIlver, she was out of her depth but she had the sense to know it and she led her people with an iron will. She trusted Silver too, as far as he could tell, and though it was foolish of her, Silver would try not to betray her. But if it ever came down to her or Flint everyone knew where his loyalty lay, where it would always lie. 

Anne and Jack left last, both seeming disatisfied with the meeting but unwilling to push further. John had no doubt they would cause problems if Flint had not recovered his memories within a couple of days. 

When they were safely out of the cabin and John could hear them descending into the longboat they had arrived on, he let out a sigh and scrubbed his hands over his face. 

“You should rest,” James said softly, startling him a little. The moment the other captains had left James’ countenance had changed entirely, his defensive expression and scowling mask having slipped away easily, leaving only James.  

“I’m fine. You should rest, you’re the one who hit your head,” John pointed out, it wasn’t late yet, but the evening was closing in, given the head wound John was surprised that James wasn’t asleep again already. He looked tired, though he always look tired nowadays, so it was difficult to tell if it was the kind of tired that sleep could help. 

“At least take the boot off,” James requested, John was sure that he would never get used to the softness in his voice, the concern. 

James had protested vehemently when John had insisted on putting it back on to see the captains, though he had promised to remain sitting throughout the meeting unless entirely necessary. It had still irritated his stump further, the boot putting a certain amount of stress on it whether he stood in it or not, and it had already been inflamed and angry when he’d forced it back into the boot. 

“Yeah.” John agreed without a fight, he never felt like he was losing some battle when he agreed with Jame, admitted that he was hurt, if he was being honest with himself, it hadn’t felt like he was losing when he admitted it to Flint in a long time either. Perhaps it was because of those sleepless nights spent in Flint’s cabin shortly after his amputation, there was no hiding how badly it hurt him to Flint after that. After his collapse on Maroon Island Flint had watched him more closely anyway, been strict with him about taking his boot off, like he was taking personal responsibility for Silver’s welfare. 

They were both incapable of looking after themselves but now John could see that somewhere along the line they’d started taking care of each other instead. He wondered why he had never noticed before. 

John reached for the fastenings on his boot, only for James to crouch down in front of him and do it for him, John let him. He had done this often enough as Flint as well, he wondered if that was what was so jarring about it, the realisation that it wasn’t new, that James had done it before, he was just only noticing it now. 

“There,” James said gently, placing the boot by John’s makeshift bed. “Maybe we should both get some rest,” James then suggested, evening was just touching on the horizon but he was right, they were both tired, they were both in considerable pain. Well, considerably more than usual, at least.

“Yeah,” John agreed again, his words seemed to have fled along with his energy when the other captains had left. He was exhausted and it was easy to relax here, with no one but James around to see him. 

James helped him over to his makeshift bed at the window without a word, John’s pride was glad for it, the undignified hop that he was reduced to always leaving him feeling shame. But it was easy with James, he helped in the most unobtrusive way. The thought crossed his mind that Flint had been the same, helping John without a word, without drawing attention to it more than necessary, without wounding his pride. 

John realised then that Flint had always been gentle when it came to his leg, he’d just been so tense around Flint that he had not noticed. Where Flint had always made him tense, James had him disarmed before he even realised. 

“We should change your bandages before you go to sleep,” John said, clearing his throat, trying to distract from the affectionate way James was helping him into his bed, moving his few cushions around to make him more comfortable before pulling back and nodding at John.

James turned from the bed and collected the fresh water, some cloth and bandages from the cabin, bringing them over and placing them within easy reach of John. John sat himself up properly from where he had been half reclining on the bed, his good leg resting on the floor while his stump sat uselessly on the edge of the bed. James pulled a chair over and sat close so that all John had to do was lean forward to be able to unwrap the bandages. 

He cleaned the wound carefully, it still looked angry and prone to bleeding, harsh bruising marring the skin around it, there was no doubt it would leave a scar. John concentrated hard as he wound fresh bandages around James’ head, making sure his own weariness didn’t cause him to jostle James or pull too tightly with tired carelessness. It was the preoccupation that stopped him from noticing that James had dipped another cloth into the water, startling a gasp out of John when the cool soothing cloth was pressed gently to his stump. 

“Sorry,” James said, though they both knew that while it hurt it was what John needed. 

“Don’t be,” John wasn’t sure why his voice was so raspy, “Hurts, but I need it.” 

“You need to take better care of it,” James chided gently.

“Probably too late. Probably going to lose more of my leg anyway. Hardy matters at this point,” John had aimed for carefree, he missed it by a wide berth, he sounded scathing, self-depreciating, bitter. 

Scared. 

John sucked in a sharp breath as chapped lips pressed a disarmingly soft kiss against his stump, so soft that if he couldn’t see it happening, he might not have noticed it. “I will not allow that to happen.” It sounded like a promise. 

Quite stretched out between them as John finished securing the bandage and James continued to run the cool cloth over his stump, John couldn’t work out if it was a comfortable silence or not. It felt loaded. 

“You should get some sleep,” James eventually broke the silence, as if he wasn’t the one with concussion, the one that really needed the rest. Though, John supposed they both needed the rest. A respite from being Long John Silver and Captain Flint. 

James hesitated for a moment too long, John just about to ask him what it was when he apparently thought better of it and crossed the room towards Flint’s bed. They’d spent many nights like this, not talking about things and not being asleep on separate sides of the cabin. For the first time the space between them felt closer yet too far away. Before it had been an impassable distance, it didn’t feel that way with James.

“Is the bed okay?” John asked as a bit of an afterthought, it was sturdier than a hammock, but it still swung too and fro, possibly not the best thing for a concussion. 

“It’s fine,” James answered, sounding as though he was already mostly asleep, John was glad, he knew Flint never slept well, maybe some good could come of this, if it meant he at least got some restful nights.

It did not take John long to fall asleep, James having successfully allayed the worst of the pain in his leg. 

John woke just before the sunrise started to creep over the horizon as he always did, feeling more rested than he had in a long time. He was surprised to see James still asleep, Flint had always risen before him, growing restless from being unable to sleep and dragging himself out of bed long before he should. Flint had told him that his days of approaching unannounced were over once, a while ago, when he’d thought Flint had been sleeping, John hadn’t told him that he always heard Flint as well, always knew when he climbed out of bed too early another morning in a row. They were attuned to each other. 

As Flint usually woke before him, John had only rarely seen him truly asleep, yet still, even only with a handful of memories of Flint sleeping, the differences between him and James were as stark in sleeping as they were the rest of the time. Even while asleep Flint’s brow had always been creased, his face pained, John had an idea of what he dreamt of that made him look that way, not the hangman's noose or cannon fire, no, John would wager he dreamt of soft eyes and softer touches that he would never have again. That would cause anyone pain. John wouldn’t ever want to wake up.

James was different, James’ face was smooth, undisturbed and peaceful. John wondered what James McGraw might dream of, nothing that Flint would, of that he was certain. He slept deeper than John had ever seen Flint manage either, eyes flickering behind his eyelids and not stirring when John shifted himself and knocked a book of his bed. He’d forgotten he’d even been reading it in the chaos of the last few days. Well, he had been reading it, but more often Flint read pieces of it to him, John wasn’t sure why, now that he looked back on it. Another one of those things that had never seemed out of place at the time. 

John knew what he had to do today, so few places that had any real meaning to them any more, the ship was their home, there was only one other place John could think to take him, no matter how desperately he did not want to. He knew he had almost lost Flint after Miranda, he still wasn’t sure how he had managed to pull Flint back from that precipice, he was just glad that somehow he had. 

To take him back to that house, to try and force him to remember and make lose himself again, lose James again. 

John didn’t want to do it.

He wished he’d had the chance to get to know Miranda more, a couple of conversations on the voyage to Charleston had made him like her, he normally didn’t like people so easily, not genuinely anyway. She was a difficult woman to describe, she had intelligence and wit and cared about James Flint. Somewhere along the road that had become all that was required for John so like someone it seemed. Miranda had probably picked up on it, shrewd as she was.

He’d never had the chance to carry on their acquaintance. 

John thought about the house, how he and Flint had spent time there planning, even though John knew the memories assaulted Flint whenever he walked through the door, made it hard for him to stand. He never stopped going back though. Whenever they made land, Flint made for the little house inland, the one with the small garden that John knew Flint tended to when he could, when no one was watching, where the last of the things belonging to the Hamiltons rested. They would have left it all to him anyway, though if they had had a choice, neither of them would have left him at all.

Would it be taking something from James, to withhold that place from him? Would it truly be a kindness not to take him back there, when Flint returned to it whenever he could, a place he treasured, that housed the ghosts of people he loved. Perhaps it wouldn’t be a kindness, perhaps it would only be John, selfish John, always so selfish. 

John felt torn, James was so different, so unspoiled by the world, John wanted to protect him from all of the hurt that had warped him into Flint. 

But he also missed Flint. 

He longed to be able to be just James and John, be the better versions of themselves that existed somewhere inside them. But that felt like a fantasy. Since the day he had chosen to follow Flint he had changed, twisted right alongside him until they fit together. James and even John felt lost behind Captain Flint and Long John Silver.  

It was a chimera just to hope they may get to be them again someday. 

But then here James was, sleeping just a few feet from him, face smooth and worry-free. James was right there, it made him feel like John could come back too. 

What if it was kinder to let him forget?

“You’re thinking so hard I can almost hear you.” A sleepy smile, crinkling at his eyes, head still on his pillow, but turned to look. John hadn’t even noticed him wake up, so gently he had woken.

“Sorry,” John wasn’t sure what he was apologising for, what he was about to do, he supposed, though he still didn’t know for certain which way he would fall, James was still smiling at him, easy, unguarded.  

“What for?” James looked amused, they both knew John hadn’t really woken him up.

John thought for a moment of the two of them hoisting the anchor, sailing away from here, no one else aboard, not coming back. A silly fantasy, they could never man the ship alone, John didn’t like the sea anyway, he was sure Flint hated it by now. 

“Hey, are you okay?” Soft words and soft eyes, James had sat up, looking at him with concern, John schooled his expression as best he could, James couldn’t know him this well already.

“Fine. We should get moving, need to head back to the beach, best if we can get by before everyone is up and moving,”John had cleared his throat roughly, almost forcefully shaking himself out of his own head. 

“Where are we going?” James asked, swinging his legs over the side of his cot and standing up, looking only mildly woozy from his head wound when he did. 

“Somewhere important to you,” John answered, bracing himself for the indignity of hopping over to his boot, only for James to move faster and bring it over for him. John reached out for the boot, only for James to bit his lip and hesitate before handing it over.

“Must you wear it?” He asked, John knew why, James wasn’t an idiot, far from it, he knew that one night’s rest would not be enough to undo the damage of the previous days. 

John reached out for it, about to say yes, he must, they might be seen, but he found himself faltering at the open look on John’s face. He retracted his hand. 

“No, I don’t have to,” John reached for his crutch, James looked relieved.

He would take the boot, just in case, but they would be far from the beach until at least tomorrow, perhaps longer, they were unlikely to bump into anyone. He’s gone to battle with only his crutch more than once, it shouldn’t make a difference. It was John’s own pride that so often found him relying on the boot. 

Using the dim light provided by the lantern, John checked James’ wound for infection, cleaned it again as best he was able and wrapped it in clean bandages. James was apparently feeling much better, headache present but much less serious, a lot of his dizziness gone too. When John went to stand, James helped him, neither of them commented on it, his hand on James’ shoulder, James’ own hand covering John’s. It was not so different to the hike to the Maroon camp. 

It was not different at all, though it felt it. John allowed himself to feel it. 

Getting down into the longboat in the dark with only one leg was difficult, but they managed. They bickered for a little while over who should row, John should’ve known that they’d end up side by side doing it together, shoulders brushing with every stroke. James laughed when they started going in a slight circle as each of James’ pulls were more powerful than John's, John found it contagious. He realised that all the other times they had rowed out together, Flint must have been adjusting his power to keep them in a straight line.

The beach presented a challenge, as it always did, but never more so than when he was trying to use his crutch, the sand shifting under his weight and threatening to topple him with every step. 

“I could carry you,” James suggested, John gave him his best ‘not a chance in hell’ look, James laughed again, free and easy, John shushed him before he could wake anyone on the beach. Luckily they were probably all in a drunken stupor and wouldn’t wake for anything. 

“I am not some damsel, I can walk up a damn beach,” John grumbled, he hated that such simple tasks were so hard for him now. 

“I never said you were, and never said you couldn’t. You don’t have to, was all I meant. I can help,” James had that painfully sincere look on his face again, the one that cut at John’s heart, the one that he’d had fantasies of seeing from Flint one day. Just another reminder that this wasn’t Flint, that he’d never really be able to have this with Flint. 

John paused in his step, he wouldn't allow himself to be carried, he still had too much pride for that, even though he knew James would never think less of him for allowing it. In all honestly he knew Flint wouldn’t either. But when James carefully took his crutch and slipped a hand around John’s waist, he let him, resting his arm over James’ shoulders, ignoring how close they were, how it made him feel, how they’d done it before. It was harder not to let himself feel things with James, than it had been with Flint. Flint had been so remote, even in his caring gestures. So remote that John hadn’t even noticed until now that it had all been there before. 

They didn’t speak as James helped him up the beach, another silence that should have been comfortable, but felt impossibly loaded with something John wasn’t sure how to name. 

“Thanks,” John cleared his throat and took his crutch when they made it to sturdier ground. 

He found a horse as he knew he would, so many of them wandering free at the moment, no one bothering to attend them after the battle, but they probably prefered it that way, for all John knew the horse’s real owner had died in the bloodbath. He didn’t like riding, it wasn’t natural to him like it was for others, and the horse always seemed to be able to sense it, still, he had gotten better at it recently. He’d never ridden bareback though, and he couldn’t see the horse's saddle anywhere, at least the bridle was still on the horse, though he felt a little bad for it. They didn’t have time for this, people would start to rise soon, he didn’t want them to be seen. 

“What’s wrong?” James asked, taking the reigns from John’s hand, patting the horse, stroking its mane as John found something to fasten his crutch to the horse with, awkward, but it would have to do, the journey wasn’t too long at least.

“I don’t know how to ride bareback, so unless you can see her saddle...”

“I can, though it isn’t particularly comfortable,” James answered, that was okay, John hadn’t known comfort in a long time, though not as long as Flint. But this wasn’t Flint, it was James.

James helped him up onto the horse before leading the horse a couple of steps towards a fence he could use to get himself up without kicking John in the face, needless to say John appreciated it.

“Hold on tight,” James urged John’s arms around his waist, making a little huffing noise and John would guess one of his amused smiles as he reached a hand behind them and pressed on John’s back until he shuffled himself up flush against James’ back. 

John took a deep breath and resisted the urge to rest his forehead between Flints shoulder blades.

“You need to lean with me, hardest part of riding without a saddle is keeping your balance.”

“I have a hard enough time not falling off when there is a saddle,” John grumbled, a slight exaggeration, but only slight.

“That’s why I told you to hold on tight,” James replied and John could feel his smile through his whole body.

When James started the horse John did hold on tight, and decided it would be nothing short of a miracle if he didn’t fall off before they got there. James seemed to sense this because one of James’ arms came to rest against where John’s were wrapped around him, reassuring him, steadying him further and easily guiding the horse with one hand. 

James didn’t know the way, of course, so John had to give him directions, leaving his chin almost constantly tucked over James’ shoulder, so that he could hear him speak. 

Eventually they made it, James carefully helping John back down from the horse and unfastening his crutch from the horse’s flank.

“Where are we?” James asked, looking at the house inquisitively.

“Miranda lived here, you still come back here whenever you can,” John answered, leading the way inside.

John sat at the dusty kitchen table and let James look around the house on his own. John felt bad for the dust, knew that Flint cleaned the place as often as he could, John found himself standing and wiping down the table to clean it. 

“Is this them?” James reappeared, holding the painting of the Hamiltons that had rested in one of the upstairs rooms. 

“Yes,” John nodded, watching as James looked at it more closely, his fingers tracing the lines of the figures in the painting, careful not to actually touch. 

John could see that he still did not remember them, he couldn’t see the familiar hurt in those eyes that always told John that Flint’s mind had gone back to its ghosts. A squeeze to his arm, a hand on his shoulder to pull him out of those thoughts as best he could. John supposed he had become something more than anger to anchor Flint to the present. 

“I wish I remembered them,” James said regretfully, “from everything you’ve told me, it feels like a betrayal that I don’t.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“Still.” James carefully set the painting down against the wall, reverently, looking at it, as if willing it to remind him of everything he’s forgotten.

They ventured outside to the little garden Miranda had tended, John smiling to himself as James absentmindedly began picking at the weeds, it reminded him that no matter how different they seemed, James was still a part of Flint, somewhere. 

“I’ll make dinner,” James said later, when most of the day had passed and they’d retreated inside. The garden had actually yielded enough vegetables for them to use with the old rice left in the cupboards for a decent dinner, John had cursed himself for forgetting to bring any food with them, unwilling to venture into the town to buy anything, too easily recognised. 

“Probably for the best,” John grinned, following him to the kitchen.

“You’re going to learn though.”

“What?”

“Yes, consider this your first lesson, pass me the carrot,” James instructed, John laughed at the absurdity of the situation and then laughed at the stern expression James shot him, but he passed the carrot obediently.

It was surreal, being in a kitchen with James, getting a lesson in the basics of cooking, James rolling his eyes at him when he apparently failed to cut a carrot correctly (how could you even do that wrong, honestly). They moved around each other so easily, it was comfortable, jarringly domestic. 

John longed for it. It was right in front of him, but completely out of reach. 

He managed not to startle when arms came around him from behind, James taking John’s hands in his own and showing him how to do things. It made John want to pretend to be worse at it than he was, so that James might stay there forever.  

“Like this,” James murmured right into the shell of his ear, helping John with something he wasn’t able to pay attention to at all in that moment. 

“Right.” His voice sounded strained to his own ears, he was just surprised he’d managed to speak at all. 

James stepped away from behind him and John felt bereft of something he knew wasn’t supposed to be his in the first place. 

James did it again after they ate, arms coming around John for no real reason while he was cleaning their plates, not willing to leave a mess in Miranda’s house. He didn’t shake James off, though he was pretty sure his heart stopped beating and he forgot how to breathe when he felt him nosing at his hair. 

John set the last of the clean dishes down and turned around slowly in the circle of James’ arms, James not stepping back as John moved. John wasn’t sure if he had hoped that he would or not. Something felt fragile, though whether it was the moment or John himself he couldn’t tell.

One of James’ hands came up to gently hold the side of John’s face, he leant in to the touch before he could stop himself. He couldn’t remember the last time someone had touched him like this. 

“John, what. What are we?” James’ tone was soft, his face softer, the hand cupping John’s cheek softer still, thumb caressing across his cheekbone. Perhaps this would be what finally broke John Silver; softness. 

“I’m your quartermaster,” John swallowed thickly, James had moved closer, he could feel his breath ghosting across his skin. 

“That’s not all we are, is it?” It wasn’t really a question, but it was still soft, so soft, like John might spook and run. 

John couldn’t run. 

“Not this,” John’s voice cracked just slightly, he hated himself, it was a reality check to himself, he couldn’t get caught up in a fantasy, he felt like he was in the midst of a cautionary tale about to remind him that he could not have what he wanted, not really. He couldn’t have Flint. “W-we’re not this.”

“Why not? I know that you - ” James faltered in his words when John pulled back just slightly, not having the will to go further. 

“But Flint doesn’t.” John said, he knew there was a sad smile on his lips, in his eyes, he knew James could see it, he couldn’t have controlled it if he’d had the energy to try.

“Flint sounds like an idiot,” James murmured and John’s breath caught in his throat as gentle lips pressed against his own, soft. 

John hesitated, frozen in place, body stiff, unable to reciprocate, unwilling to pull away. He felt guilt wash over him, he shouldn’t be letting this happen, Flint would have his head when he remembered, if he remembered. It was selfish, he was taking advantage of the situation to get what he wanted, he should stop it. He didn’t want to though, he wished he was a better man, but he wasn’t, he was John Silver, thief and liar. 

There was something else though, something he’d scarcely even admit to himself. He wanted to kiss James, he knew that, but he wanted Flint to want to kiss him more. The way he felt about James was so wound up in how he felt about Flint, James made him sad, to see what Flint had lost, to see where he had come from. He loved seeing James so free of everything, able to just be James again. And years ago John could have melted into James without a second thought. But too much had happened, and John knew that it wasn’t James who his twisted edges fit with. It was Flint that he wanted more, Flint that he wanted to want him, and John knew that he didn’t, not really. 

But Flint might never come back to him. And John Silver had always been a selfish man.

So he froze, unable to reciprocate, and unwilling to pull away. 

A few moments passed, just moments, but those few moments of soft lips were almost enough to burn John’s hesitancy to the ground and have him kiss Flint in the way he had wanted for a long time. But James pulled away first, even that was soft, his crestfallen look another thing John Silver could hate himself for.

James smiled sadly at him as he put some distance between them, reaching out and tucking a stray lock of curly hair behind John’s ear. 

“I might never be him again,” James said, John felt his breath catch again, out of what he wasn’t sure. He felt like he was losing something as James’ hand fell back to his side. 

John had no response to that. James stole his breath again as he pressed a soft kiss to John’s knuckles before retreating out of the room.   
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Come bug me on [tumblr](http://shadyanne.tumblr.com/) <3


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